


Past and Present

by triste



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-21
Updated: 2012-11-21
Packaged: 2017-11-19 05:13:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/569492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triste/pseuds/triste
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Just kiss me. I dare you."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Past and Present

Title: Past and Present  
Author: Triste  
Fandom: Hetalia  
Pairing: America/England  
Rating: PG  
Status: Complete  
Disclaimer: Not mine

~~

It was strange to see England so silent and still. It was even stranger to see France fussing over him in concern.

“So he has a cold?” America asked.

“And a bad fever, on top of that,” France replied, frowning at the thermometer he’d taken England’s temperature with.

“Right. Are you sure he’s not faking it?”

“Does he look like he’s pretending?”

“You can never be too careful. He might be waiting for us to let our guard down before setting off some trap or punching me in the face, and then he’d be all, ‘Ha ha ha, serves you right.’ That’s the kind of person he is.”

“He’s genuinely ill. He’s not in any state to get out of bed, never mind pull tricks.”

America stared. England really didn’t look well at all. His face was flushed, and his breathing was slightly laboured. “Maybe we should call an ambulance?” he suggested.

“He’ll be fine,” France said confidently. “He just needs a reliable big brother to watch over him until he’s better.”

“And that reliable big brother would be...?”

“Me, of course!” France huffed. “I could hardly leave him to the care of someone as clumsy as you.”

“I’m not clumsy!” America said, offended by the implication.

“And noisy,” France continued. America was about to protest that too, but France’s attention had already turned back to England. His smile was almost fond as he poked England’s cheek with a fingertip. “What a cute sleeping face. He looks so vulnerable and defenceless.” Then the smile became a lecherous leer. “It makes me want to molest him.”

America stared dubiously.

“I jest,” France said, but his words weren’t exactly reassuring. “It’s no fun if he’s not fighting back. It’s so much better when he tries to resist.”

“I’ve thought this before, but you’re pretty depraved.”

“Different strokes for different blokes, as our dear England would put it.” France made a shooing motion towards America. “Go on, out with you. I can’t watch over him with someone constantly hovering over my shoulder.”

“That’s all you’re going to do?” America pressed. “No funny stuff?”

“No funny stuff,” France promised. “I’m here to nurse him back to health.”

“Okay. Make sure he gets better.” America hesitated a moment longer, casting one last glance at England before he left the room.

It was only a cold, he told himself. People didn’t die from colds, right? England definitely didn’t. He was the most tenacious person America knew. It was actually annoying how stubborn he could be. Still, it bothered America. He hated to admit it, but France had a point. He didn’t do it on purpose, but he could be clumsy sometimes. He also had a tendency to say all the wrong things, especially when it came to England.

Now that America thought about it, England had been acting kind of odd the day before. It made him feel guilty about ignoring him so blatantly, having figured he just wanted attention.

England really had been sick. America had never noticed.

“Stupid England,” he muttered. “You should have said something.”

Not that he probably would have believed England if he had. England was permanently in denial. It wasn’t his nature to talk about anything truly important. He was worse than a woman, giving out hints as to what he might be thinking or wanting, and then having a hissy fit when America either refused to decode his cryptic comments or they sailed straight over his head. England had always berated him for not being more perceptive. “Pig ignorant,” he’d called him on more than one occasion. America had always maintained that he was so awesome he didn’t need to be aware of anybody else.

That cheered him up instantly. Awesomeness was the cure for everything. Simply being in the same room as England and radiating vibes of sheer awesome would make him recover in no time.

His mind made up, America strode back to relieve France of his burden. He decided to be considerate for once and forgo his usual dramatic entrance by not crashing the door open the way he usually would have done, but the sight that greeted him upon his return was enough to make him forget shouting about being there to save the day.

There were many situations that could only be summed up with the words “what the hell?”

This was one of them.

England and France had both been fully clothed the last time America saw them, England in his plaid pyjamas, France in one of his typically flamboyant sapphire and scarlet combination outfits. Now, however, they were both completely naked, with France having joined England under the covers to curl up with him.

“What are you *doing*?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” said France. “And please stop shouting. This is the most effective way of curing a sick person.”

“Only if they’re in danger of freezing to death!”

America was fuming. He couldn’t understand how France had actually come across as being caring and competent earlier. He really was useless in every way but one. That included keeping his hands to himself. He’d also succeeded in making things worse, America soon discovered after kicking him out. England’s temperature was even higher than before. America didn’t have a clue how to bring it down again.

Firstly, he tried placing a cool damp cloth on England’s forehead the way he’d seen France do, but that didn’t appear to have much effect. England’s forehead was still hot to the touch. America didn’t know much about taking care of sick people, but he did know about having to feed them soup in order to keep their strength up. The only problem was that England couldn’t eat if he was still asleep. Pinching his nose shut with one hand and pouring chicken soup into his mouth with the other would probably only result in him choking to death.

In any case, England would probably prefer tea to soup. He couldn’t live without the stuff.

Maybe the high temperature had been brought on by withdrawal symptoms. It was clear America had to act fast. Awesome vibes alone wouldn’t be enough to take care of something so serious. He was glad his country produced such quality medical shows like MASH and ER. Thanks to those the solution of how to make a sleeping person drink tea was simple. He just had to administer it intravenously.

For some strange reason, the doctor America called to undertake the task hung up on him.

English people could be so rude.

~~

After that came America’s next great idea. There had to be a quicker way of bringing his temperature down, rather than sitting by his side and waiting for his immune system to start sorting itself out. The solution had come from another amazing American invention, the microwave meal. Dumping England into a bathtub full of cold water was bound to be as swift and effective at breaking his fever as a TV dinner was at curbing one’s appetite.

Five minutes later and England was shivering uncontrollably. His temperature hadn’t improved. Even worse, the colour had drained from his face altogether.

Regrettably, there was only one thing America could do. He would have to warm England up again with his naked body.

Naturally, that was when France reappeared. The smirk on his face spoke volumes.

“Oh ho,” he said slyly. “What do we have here?”

“It’s not what it looks like!” America insisted.

“I can’t leave you alone for a second, can I?”

America’s only response to that was to throw a pillow at France's face.

~~

Maybe you did need the experience of being an older brother for something like this, America mused later as he watched France tending to England. The colour was back in England’s cheeks now, and he wasn’t quite as flushed as he had been previously.

“He just needs rest,” France claimed. “Let’s try not to exacerbate matters, for his sake.”

America nodded in reluctance. “You must have done this before, huh? Looked after him, I mean.”

“I wouldn’t say that. He doesn’t let anyone get close enough to do that. Ironically, it’s what he wants most, having somebody who cares. He just won’t admit it.”

“But you and him go way back, right? The two of you have been fighting forever. Haven’t you known him since he was tiny?”

“That’s true,” France conceded. “But my big brother relationship with him was nothing like the big brother relationship he had with you. There was none of the love between England and I that was once shared with you and him.”

America squirmed, uncomfortable as ever with bringing up the past. “What was he like as a kid?” he asked, changing the topic slightly. “I bet he had the same evil temper then as he does now.”

“He was much more gullible before. Everybody used to bully him, but that’s common behaviour most older nations use towards the younger ones. He used to go crying to his fairy friends about it. Looking back, it’s one thing that hasn’t changed.”

“Did you pick on him?” America wanted to know.

“No more than the average person,” France chuckled. “He used to idolise me, you know. He wanted to dress like me, wear his hair like mine... He used to bite me whenever I tried to make him wear the pretty frocks that were in fashion at the time. But he did try growing his hair as long as mine. He looked ridiculous, as I’m sure you can imagine. But of course,” he said, stretching in a nonchalant fashion while watching America carefully from the corner of one eye, “you wouldn’t understand what it’s like to be picked on. England was always there to protect you, after all.”

America said nothing. France refrained from pushing him any further.

“I guess I’ll leave you to it.” He gave America a companionable pat on the shoulder. “And no more nudity, hm? Not until my almost ex-wife is recovered and ready to reciprocate. It’s more entertaining that way.”

“Be glad he’s not awake to hear you say that.”

~~

England woke up later that evening groggy and out of it, and seemingly surprised to see America sitting in a chair next to his bed.

“How long have I been asleep?” he asked.

“A few hours,” America told him.

England lowered his gaze, fidgeting with the covers. “Have you been by my side the whole time?”

“More or less.”

The crimson colouring of England’s cheeks deepened as he pulled the covers up to his nose with a mumbled “thanks.”

“What was that?” America teased, leaning closer. “I couldn’t quite hear you.”

England threw the covers back irritably. “I said thank you, you bastard!”

“Good.” America gave England the thumbs up. “You must be back to normal if you’re yelling like that, but you’re still far from being one hundred per cent healthy. You need to stay put for a while.”

England made a “humph” noise but settled back down. “I suppose it must have been a chore,” he said, “having to watch over me.”

“You’re not kidding. Sick people sure are dull.”

England glowered at him. “I never forced you to stay.”

“You didn’t,” America agreed. “And yet, I stayed anyway. Weird, huh?”

“You may leave if you’d like. I’ll be perfectly fine on my own.”

“I’ve been here with you a while now. I might as well see this through to the end.”

England turned over and tugged the sheets over his head, presumably to help him pretend he was pissed off when actually he was pleased. “Do whatever you want.”

~~

Poland and Lithuania were the first people to pay England a visit.

“We heard you were sick,” Poland explained. “So, like, we decided to come and see how you were doing.”

England cleared his throat, obviously embarrassed. “That’s very nice, but you didn’t have to trouble yourselves.”

“It’s no trouble at all. We even brought you a gift.”

England brightened considerably, but attempted to downplay Poland’s goodwill gesture by repeatedly saying such things as “I couldn’t possibly” and “you really shouldn’t have” which, in England speak, was a more modest way of saying “gimme.”

“Just accept it already,” America said putting a stop to what would otherwise have been a never ending English-Polish exchange of “you’re too kind” and “like, totally.” He peered at Poland. “Where is this gift anyway? And where’s Lithuania?”

“He should be standing outside along with your present,” Poland said helpfully. “You’ll need to, like, open the window first.”

America got up to do as Poland instructed. Sure enough, Lithuania was waiting.

“Surprise!” Poland exclaimed. “It’s a new unicorn friend!”

England’s right eyebrow twitched. “It’s a pony,” he said, teeth gritted. “A pony with a glow stick taped to its head.”

“It’s it cool? You switch it on, and it flashes pretty colours.”

England pinched the bridge of his nose wearily between forefinger and thumb. “Unicorns are meant to be white. Why is this one purple?”

“It’s lilac,” Poland corrected. “It took us forever to find the right shade. We, like, braided its mane and everything. It’s the prettiest pony you’ll find that hasn’t been made by Hasbro.”

“So you admit to it being a pony.”

“No point hiding it now.”

England smiled. It looked painful. “I appreciate your consideration.”

“’S’okay. Just don’t forget to, like, send us a totally awesome thank you gift in return as soon as you get better.”

~~

England was even less thrilled later that day when he learned who his next visitors were.

“You invited *Germany* over?” he hissed. “And that idiot Italy?”

“They invited themselves,” America said. “Well, Italy did. I can’t really speak for the other guy.”

“I don’t want him here. Tell him to go away.”

“Come on. There’s no need to hold a grudge because his guys beat your guys at soccer.”

England’s scowl darkened. “It’s not just that. Have you ever been on holiday with Germans? They always bag the best sun beds with their towels before anyone else can get to the pool. That’s not gentlemanly behaviour!”

“So says the former delinquent,” America snickered. “All you have to do is greet them. That can’t be so hard, can it?”

But England was still sulking when Italy bounded into the room, Germany following shortly after.

“We come bearing gifts!” he said cheerfully. “From me, we have pasta, and fruit.”

“At least one of them is appropriate,” England muttered.

“And from Germany, we have a super special shocking adult DVD!” Italy continued. “You’re probably bored sitting around all day recovering, right? That’s why we thought we’d bring you a movie to pass the time with. This one has horses in it! English people love horses, don’t they? Didn’t one of them write a play about a boy who was so in love with his horse he had to blind it? You guys really are funny. You’re the only ones who make stories about human beings having intimate relations with animals.”

England looked very much like he wanted to wrap his hands around Italy’s neck and squeeze. Germany looked like he wanted a hole to open in the ground and swallow him up. Italy, of course, remained oblivious to the tension and the awkwardness in the room.

“I envy you two," Italy said. "Shared interests are so nice.”

~~

There were no more visitors for a while after that, but England did receive a letter in the post from Russia.

“Do I even want to open this?” he wondered, holding it at arm’s length. “It’s not going to blow up, is it?” He peeled the flap of the envelope back gingerly, took the letter out, skimmed it, went pale and then showed it to America.

“‘Dear friend England,’” he read aloud. “‘I am sorry to hear you are ill. I am also afraid I will have to take advantage of your weakness should you remain indisposed for too long. I would advise you to recuperate quickly if you are opposed to the idea of becoming one with me. Yours, Russia. P.S. I have enclosed a photograph of myself to watch over you in my absence. Please keep it close to your heart.’”

America picked up the photo, and shuddered at what he saw. The photo was of Russia waving in front of a backdrop of sunflowers. Eerily, his face was blurred and distorted.

“Now that’s what I call creepy,” America said. “It’s just like that scene from The Ring. Do you think there was a fault with the camera or something? Whatever the case, it’s freaking me out.”

“I concur.”

“We should burn it. Before he comes crawling out of it.”

“Yes.”

~~

“Thank God,” was the first thing out of England’s mouth when Japan made his appearance. “Somebody with a bit of common sense and sanity.”

Japan bowed. “I am honoured by your praise, England-san. As always, you flatter me with your words.”

“Eh?” England went straight into denial mode. “I didn’t mean it like that! Don’t get the wrong idea. I wasn’t going out of my way to compliment you or anything. I won’t allow any misunderstandings, just so you know.”

“Of course,” Japan said, a small smile curving his lips. “As you wish.”

England’s answering self-conscious smile made America want to roll his eyes. Despite England’s blustering, America knew he was genuinely happy to see Japan. The two of them had a lot in common such as being small island nations who both loved things like tea, gardening, trains and murder mysteries. America couldn’t understand their relationship. It was the same with France. It sometimes made him feel miffed and a bit left out.

“I brought you these,” Japan announced, handing over a bouquet. “I hope it’s not an inconvenience.”

“Not at all,” England assured him. Again, he seemed rather touched by the offering. America could only assume Japan was in possession of some secret power capable of mollifying even the most uptight and easily offended person. The last time France had given England flowers (roses, incidentally) England had tried stabbing his eyes out with the stalks.

“Also,” Japan added, reaching into his bag, “please accept this. It’s the latest volume of that manga series you enjoy so much, the one about the boy and his book of magical friends.”

“Excellent! I’ve been wanting to know what happens next.” England took the book and briefly flipping through it. “You really do make the best comic books. They’re so much better than America’s.”

Japan bowed once more. “I thank you.”

“Honestly,” England laughed. “He’s been obsessed with heroes since he was a child. It’s one thing about him that hasn’t changed at all. It makes me wonder if he’s ever going to grow up.”

‘I’m already grown up,’ was what America wanted to say, but for once he kept his mouth shut. “I’ll make myself scarce,” was what he said instead, annoyed. There was no point hanging around any longer.

England was well on the way to recovery. It was about time America went home. England could handle the rest on his own, or at least keep Japan around for help, but then America remembered the promise he’d made earlier. All right, so it hadn’t actually been a promise, but he had said something about seeing things through to the end. No matter how childish England happened to think it was, heroes never went back on their word.

With nothing better to do, America went out into the garden, England’s pride and joy. It was full of flowers he didn’t know the names of.

Japan would probably know their names. He probably even knew the meaning and symbolism behind them.

America scowled. So what if he was ignorant? There were plenty other things he had to make up for it.

Maybe he should have done as everybody else had and given England a get-well gift. England might have been more grateful to him then. America couldn’t remember the last time he’d given England anything other than silly gag gifts to get on his nerves, and they didn’t count. England used to give him presents all the time. They were still piled up in America’s storage closet because he couldn’t stand to throw them away, not that he hadn’t tried. The many children’s toys and fine clothing England once gifted him with had memories attached to them, both good and bad.

Thinking about the past made America depressed, which was why he didn’t do it often. Besides, reminiscing was for old people. He had been a grown up for some time now, but at least he wasn’t a geezer. He wondered if England ever thought about the past. He always seemed to dwell on the more negative aspects of it, as evinced by his mantra of “after all I’ve done for you” and repeatedly calling America an ungrateful brat. England would only suspect ulterior motives even if America had gotten him anything, just like America had initially been suspicious of England faking his illness. Were they always going to be like this from now on, being forever mistrustful of one another?

America slapped his cheeks to snap himself out of such maudlin musing. England was the brooder, not him. America was the eternally positive one. Nothing cheered him up like food. A burger would no doubt make him feel better.

With that in mind, America was about to go in search of the nearest McDonald’s when England appeared. His expression was uncertain, and he chose to look down at the ground rather than fix his gaze on America’s.

“Here you are,” he said. “I wondered what was wrong. You took off so suddenly.” He paused for a moment, indecisive. Then he added, stiffly, “I was worried.”

He really must have been, to just come out with something like that.

“It’s fine,” America said, hoping he came off sounding casual.

Any other time and the role reversal would have been funny, with England being honest with his feelings and America being evasive about them.

“Where’s Japan?” he asked. “If you were going to head outside, you could at least have shown him this place.”

“He left,” England replied, gesturing to where America was sitting. “May I take a seat?”

“Go ahead. It’s your garden.”

England sat on the opposite end of the bench, smoothing his pyjamas down and folding his hands in his lap. “I’m sorry,” he began at last. “I said something unnecessary before. I know how much you hate being treated like a child.”

“It’s a shame you didn’t realise that back in 1776,” America said, the bitterness in his voice surprising to his own ears as he glimpsed the pained expression that flitted across England’s face before he turned away.

Why, America wondered, did they only ever hurt each other? France had been right. He was clumsy.

Slipping out of his jacket, he draped it carefully over England’s shoulders. “You’re not going to get better if you walk around outdoors without a coat.” He made to apologise by way of lightening the mood. “I really am one hundred per cent adult, you know. Or do I have to drop my pants to prove it?”

“Spare me the horror,” England said sarcastically, but at least he didn’t look so wounded anymore.

“There are other ways in which to prove my adultness,” America prompted. “I could kiss you, for starters. You know, mouth-to-mouth tonguing stuff, not some kiddie peck on the cheek.”

England went red, this time avoiding America’s gaze for a completely different reason. “I have no intention of letting you do anything of the sort.”

“Alternatively, you could kiss me. Then I’d know for sure you don’t still see me as a kid.”

“Bastard! Who’d want to kiss you? You’re the one who’s been acting like a jealous husband!”

America's eyes widened. “Jealous husband? Where did you get *that* from?”

“There’s no use hiding it,” England smirked. “France once wanted to marry me out of convenience, so why wouldn’t you? I’m glad you’re aware of how astonishingly amazing I am. It’s only natural you would come running back after that foolish declaration of independence. You really are hopeless without me.”

“What the heck is this illness of yours?” America demanded, unsettled. “Is it causing us to switch personalities or something? Did we somehow manage to absorb each other’s traits with all that body on body contact?”

“Body contact? What on earth are you talking about?”

“Nothing! Nothing at all!” America forced a laugh. It was best for England to remain in the dark about how America’s methods of nursing him back to health had backfired on him. The only thing left was to beat up France to prevent him from blabbing later. “Go on, kiss me,” he said, swiftly changing the subject. “You know you want to.”

“You’re deluding yourself,” England scoffed. “Even if I did want to – which I most definitely don’t, for your information – I would only infect you with my germs.”

“Idiots don’t catch colds.”

“So you willingly admit your own idiocy? That’s a welcome development.”

“Stop being mean. Just kiss me. I dare you.”

America continued to goad England into doing exactly that mostly because it was fun, but also because it was serving to distract him from America’s earlier slip up. When England raised his right hand, America assumed it was to punch him with. He was completely taken aback when England used it to cover his mouth instead.

“You talk too much,” said England, his face red as he leaned up to touch his lips to the back of his hand. America barely had enough time to register what he was doing before England was on his feet again and rushing off in embarrassment. “Don’t follow me!” he shouted when he noticed America chasing after him.

America refused to listen. Running away wasn’t going to solve anything. They had to face facts, but first...

It only took him three long strides to catch up. It took less effort still to sweep England into his arms and bend down so that their noses were less than half an inch apart.

“That was a sissy kiss,” he said. “Let me show you the hero’s version.”

And he did exactly that.

 

End.


End file.
